<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Nobody To Blame But Myself by Detective4</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25927855">Nobody To Blame But Myself</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detective4/pseuds/Detective4'>Detective4</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociation, Edgar Allan Ravens (All For The Game), Evermore - Freeform, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Handcuffs, Hitchhiking, Hurt Neil Josten, I really like Neil and Jean's friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, Kidnapping, Knives, M/M, Martyr Neil Josten, Non-Consensual Drug Use, On the Run, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm, Stitches, Swearing, The Nest, Triggers, Vigilante Neil Josten, Vigilantism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:40:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,767</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25927855</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Detective4/pseuds/Detective4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She called him a hero. The police called him "wanted for questioning."</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>“Remember you? I <em>know</em> you for sure, leader of the feared <em>bird</em> gang. Terrifying, really. What do you do to your enemies? Peck their eyes out?”</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>A vigilante Neil AU where he becomes one completely by accident and it gets him into more trouble than it's worth.</p>
<p>Gangs, crime, torture, and a little mafia,,, As a treat.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten &amp; Jean Moreau, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Man of the People, a Nobody in Sheep's Clothing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have many ideas for angst in this going forward, so if you stick with it, I think you'll be rewarded.</p>
<p>Please comment if you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Neil was stupid.</p>
<p>He knew this well. He just didn’t know he was <em>this</em> stupid. </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em> His first problem was that he didn’t work well with others. He didn’t take well to people telling him what to do and he didn’t like being responsible for others. He wasn’t used to it. Thus, it became a problem when people would tell him <em>specifically</em> not to do something and his brain instead urged him on to <em>do it.</em></em></em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Neil was what some would call a vigilante. Not many knew what he actually looked like and less knew his real name. Actually, make that zero. He changed his looks and names so often it was impossible to track him. Well, almost impossible, because somehow, he still manages to get himself in this shit. </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Neil liked to refer to himself as a man who continually seemed to find himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, and does everything he can to get himself <em>out</em> of that situation, somehow helping others in the process. He really never intends for innocent bystanders to get anything out of these encounters, but somehow it keeps happening. </em></em></em>
      </em>
    
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Like the time he broke into what he thought was an abandoned house to spend the night, and found a burglar already there. The house was in disrepair, there were no cars in the driveway, and a “For Sale” sign was posted neatly out front. </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>He had climbed carefully through the window, clutching his duffel bag close to him. He had found the window unlocked, which should have clued him in. Especially if he had just stopped, and looked closer, he would have noticed that the lock was not simply unlocked, it was broken.<br/>
He immediately noticed the mess the living room was in. His eyes widened as he took in the surefire signs of a previous break-in like a second sense. He turned to climb right back out the window, when he felt the cold metal of a knife rest on the back of his neck.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>His reaction was instinctive. </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“Don’t mov-!” The man behind him started and didn’t get to finish beyond a strangled yell when his arm was suddenly twisted behind him. Neil didn’t waste time subduing him when he could simply break his arm and be done with it. </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>He kicked the man’s knee out to the sound of a door softly opening. He already had his hands on the window sill when he saw the child.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>It was a small girl, couldn’t be older than 6, clutching the door frame and shaking. Neil had no idea what to do. This girl obviously wasn’t a threat, but one look at the man clutching his arm on the floor told him he couldn’t leave her here alone. He really should’ve just left, but instead, Neil hesitated, then spoke,<br/>
“Is there a phone here?”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>The girl nodded, eyes big.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“Call 911, then-...” Neil hesitated again, thinking over his options, “Stay in your room until they get here, okay?”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>She looked at him for another moment and then did the strangest thing. She smiled.<br/>
“Thank you.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>She said it so quietly, Neil almost didn’t catch it. Then she grabbed a phone from the kitchen and retreated back to her room. </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Neil was so bewildered he stared at the closed door for a few moments longer before he realized he had to get a move on or he wouldn’t be far enough away when the cops arrived. </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>He weighed his options. He hadn’t planned on killing the man, but if Neil left him alone here with that girl, who knew what would happen? He couldn’t very well stay here either, so he started looking around for rope or something similar. </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Killing the man would be so much easier, and he even picked up the knife the man had dropped, but… All he could think about was that girl coming out of her room to such a gruesome scene. He knew how it felt, how your throat closed up and your eyes watered and flinched away from the remains of someone’s life scattered out before you. How the nightmares still plagued you for years after, how it seemed to be burned behind your eyelids at times.<br/>
He wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not on another child. </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Neil found twist ties in the drawer underneath the silverware in the kitchen. He hurried back to the living room and secured the man’s ankles and wrists as tightly as he could, with no resistance aside from a whimper when the broken arm was moved. The burglar seemed to have passed out from the pain. </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Neil allowed himself to scoff at the weakness before lifting himself back over the window sill and into the cool, night air. He was four blocks away, adjusting the strap of his bag, when he heard the sirens.<br/>
He ducked into an alley, and counted to ten in English and German while squatting next to a dumpster, trying to pull himself out of a panic as his brain finally caught up with what he had done. He knew he couldn’t stay there long, and scratched at his wrist harshly when his legs refused to move.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>The feeling of skin breaking under his nails finally pulled him out of his head and back onto his feet. He was two towns over by the time day broke.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>-</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>When he caught sight of a TV in the small diner he was in the next afternoon, he froze.<br/>
The little girl from last night was on the news. And she was talking about him.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          
       She had apparently seen more of what had happened before than he previously thought, only she framed it all as him breaking into her mother’s house to <em>save</em> her from the robber. She called him a hero. The police called him “wanted for questioning.”
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    
  
</em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>That was how it all started. He thought it would be a one time thing, the police wouldn’t be able to find a trace of him, and his file would soon disappear under the mountain of cases they get every day.<br/>
The internet, however, couldn’t let go of him. It didn’t help that he kept finding himself in similar situations.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>There were more and more “sightings” of him every day. The truth is, most of them weren’t even him, he was just getting the credit for it. Also, he was 90% sure most of the posts were made up for views anyways. Nonetheless, some true interactions made their way to Reddit or other alike platforms. </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>He’d get shot in the leg by what he was sure was one of his father’s people, and all the sudden there’s posts about the way he jumped in front of a mother holding her child to protect them from an active shooter.<br/>
The truth was, he’d only been passing by the woman on his way to the bus stop when he was shot. Of course, no one understood that he was the one being aimed at by the gunman; that the mother and child weren’t in any real danger unless they got in the way. </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>It was terrifying watching news of him spread like this, but he routinely checked library computers to stay up to date on what people were saying. He needed to know how accurate their statements were getting and how widespread news of his whereabouts were. Still, no one was able to pin down exactly what he looked like, but it was common knowledge on those forums that he was short, they speculated around 5’5”, and he always carried a small, grey and blue duffel bag slung over his shoulder.<br/>
It wasn’t much, but it made his hands shake just thinking about it.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>The odd thing about the sort of, ‘following’ he’d created was that they seemed as determined to keep his whereabouts a secret from the police as he was. They recognized the way he “kept the people safe” broke laws, and they wanted to keep him around and free to keep doing it.<br/>
They used particular hashtags, and questioned people before letting them on message boards. It was… Interesting, to say the least, but he couldn’t quite appreciate when he was still laser focused on the fact that he had people talking about him. </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              
                He was given a nickname, a… <em>title,</em> if you will, after a young teen reported him saving them a couple of days ago. The heroic scene the kid described came about simply because Neil was passing between two buildings in a short cut he had been using recently.<br/>
The closed down warehouse he had been squatting in over the last week was on an actually fairly busy street, but if he passed through this way, he could come up from behind the building and use the back door, keeping any prying eyes away from the fact that unauthorized personnel was using the building. 
              
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>He had been nursing his bleeding arm, brought about by another close call with a knife and a man with a black suit, and already making plans on where to move onto tomorrow morning, since it was clear he couldn't stay here anymore. He looked up, though, when heard telltale signs of struggling up ahead of him.<br/>
The scene he walked into made him freeze. By the time his mind finally supplied him with a description of what his eyes were taking in, his hands had already brought his gun out from his bag.</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>A small teen was cowering against the brick side of the bar they were next to, while a larger man loomed over them. One of the man’s hands was gripping the brown hair of the kid tightly, while the other hand was snuck behind the teen, down farther than what could be mistaken as a pat on the back. His face was pressed close to the shaking figure’s tightly shut eyes, and Neil pulled the trigger.</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>He would’ve aimed for the groin if the man had been facing towards him, but the howl of pain that rewarded him for his shot to the thigh satisfied him enough. Neil quickly realized he wouldn’t be staying here another night before leaving. He’d have to be gone before this got called in.</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    The teen had slid down the wall, clutching their knees with shaking hands, wide eyes trained on Neil. What took Neil aback, however, was that the eyes didn’t look scared. They looked <em>relieved.</em>
                  

                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    
  
</em></em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  
               
                   
    “It’s <em>you.</em>” The kid whispered, too much emphasis on the word for Neil to mistake it for anything but the dreaded recognition it was.
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      
    
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>Neil quickly clicked the safety back on his gun, stepped neatly over the pile of moaning limbs the disgusting man had been reduced to, and put the weapon back in his bag. </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>“Wait!” The kid called after him.</em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>Neil stalled, morbid curiosity for the teen’s question keeping him here for a few more precious seconds. </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>“Who are you?” The teen asked, sounding almost… Awed.</em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>“Nobody.” Neil answered briskly, before he could think better of it, and continued on his way.</em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>Neil regretted that slip up as soon as he checked out his regular forums on a library computer and found that he was now being referred to as “Nobody”. As if the fact that his entire survival, that hinged on being nothing, being unremarkable and not remembered, was a cute little nickname to give the crime fighting duffel bag man. </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>He was now in Columbia, a new city in a new state to hide away from new mistakes. Unfortunately for Neil, his mistakes like to follow him.</em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            He started seeing pleas in the posts he was scrolling through for ‘Nobody’ to lay low for a while. There were reports of police investigating the same alleyway he shot the man in; apparently Neil had hit an artery and the man bled out before medics arrived. He somehow couldn’t find it in himself to shed a tear over the loss of <em>such</em> a man of culture and good character to this world. 
                          
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    
  
</em></em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              
                            
  The problem was, that instead of a man wanted for questioning and possibly some charges and fines, he was now a wanted <em>murderer.</em> Well, it couldn’t be worse than what he was already running from, right?
                              
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>His followers urged him to stay out of sight as they had seen some suspicious men hanging around that site as well. Men in suits, men in fancy cars, men who people assumed to be FBI agents on his tail.<br/>
Neil knew better.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Neil wanted to run. He knew he just got to South Carolina and there was no evidence that his father’s men had already followed him here, but it seemed clear they had caught on to his online following and were using it to find him. It was only a matter on time before people spotted him here and posted it to the internet without any regard for his safety. </em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>
                          <em>
                            <em>
                              <em>
                                <em>Despite the numerous warnings his usual hashtags seemed swarmed with, he adjusted his bag and exited the library with an escape plan to Mexico already forming.<br/>
The aforementioned “first problem” Neil possessed, his inability to do the things he is told to do, is what will come back to bite him in the ass this time.</em>
                              </em>
                            </em>
                          </em>
                        </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Descending Into The Darkness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another chapter!<br/>I told you these would come quick, but they're also fairly short.</p><p>I enjoy your comments, keep them coming!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Neil didn’t make it past Lexington. </p><p>He had caught a ride with a kind trucker at a gas station, engaging him with conversation about his study abroad trip to Mexico and learning that the man was also learning Spanish, so he could communicate better with his girlfriend and her family.<br/>
The man was stout and pale, but had smile lines around his eyes and mouth. Neil almost wished he had a longer ride with him. He was only having the man take him a few cities over before he could switch to a bus headed in the direction he needed.</p><p>Neil swears he never tries to bring other people into his messes, but with him, he leaves collateral damage wherever he goes. He thought of all of the people he and his mother had easily pushed into the line of fire just to save themselves. If he tried to focus on a number his head filled with static.</p><p>They had only been on the road for 20 minutes before a large black van veered into their lane, headed straight towards them. The van was pristine and shining in the early morning sun, it’s front grate glinting viciously.<br/>
Neil noticed that the road around them was empty and this van had likely been a long time coming. Neil had just been too distracted to notice. He pinched the inside of his thigh as a reminder to stay on track.<br/>
Neil knew hitting them would likely do more damage to the van and its passengers than to the big truck, but he guessed the plan was to make the truck veer off the road. To stop, at the very least. </p><p>The trucker was fiddling with the radio, one hand on the bottom of the steering wheel, barely doing the job of keeping the vehicle running in a straight line. Neil reacted instantly, not wanting the man’s truck, or the man himself, to be damaged because of him. </p><p>Neil was not used to caring about others, the only person he had had to look out for his entire life was his mother, but she was gone now. Buried underneath miles of sand and seawater, just bones and dust and the faint smell of gasoline.<br/>
He found himself wanting to care again. He wanted to save this man.</p><p>He grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it to the left, carrying the truck to the next lane just long enough to pass the black van. The trucker’s head jerked up, eyes wide in surprise.</p><p>“Fuck! What’re they doing?” The man’s gruff voice barked out, taking the wheel back from Neil.</p><p>Neil knew he should be panicked, and he will later, but right now his head was busy calculating escape routes. If this was him and his mom, they would keep going. Change their route and try to lose their pursuers. She might hit Neil for taking his eyes off the road, or for not warning her in time, or… Just out of frustration.<br/>
Neil was used it, it grounded him, it kept him focused. He needed his attention on the present situation and his mother understood that perfectly.<br/>
However, Neil couldn’t put this man in any more danger than he’d already been in, and Neil knew that as long as he was in this truck, the kind man would be threatened.</p><p>So he jumped.</p><p>Yes, he was that stupid.<br/>
He unclipped his seat belt, threw open his door, and turned back to the trucker one last time.</p><p>“Keep going. Thanks for the ride.” And Neil threw himself out of a vehicle going 60 miles an hour, aiming for the grass, but hitting a stretch of road before being able to roll onto the grassy side.</p><p>His shoulder burned where it’d been skinned by the gravel, but he stood up and turned towards the black van that was now stopped on the side of the road, 30 feet away from him. He now realized he hadn’t made a plan beyond getting out of the truck, and he mentally berated himself. He was going soft and he knew it. He was useless on his own.<br/>
He knew he wouldn’t be able to outrun a van on a rural, practically empty, road. But he had to try.</p><p>He bolted to the right, straight into a tall corn field, calculating that if he ran diagonally to his left, he would come across a small town in about an hour.<br/>
He didn’t make it five minutes.</p><p>A bullet whizzed past his ear, making his hair stand on end and his knees almost fail him. Another grazed his left bicep, causing him to hiss in pain and instinctively clamp a hand to the wound.<br/>
He was so, <em>so,</em> stupid. He was going to get caught here, he was going to be returned to his father, this was the end. This was the end of all his mother had fought tooth and nail for. What she had died for. He had basically just spat on her grave, on her rules, and signed his own death warrant. </p><p>He only ran for another minute before a shot fired above his head forced him to crouch low, terrified of a bullet finding his mark.<br/>
That moment of rest, of him breathing heavily, trying to think of ways out of this, was enough time for him to notice the throbbing in his ankle. Apparently his shoulder wasn’t the only thing that had been injured in the fall from the truck, and when he glanced down at his right leg, the skin around his ankle and calf was torn to shreds. He could see a white sliver of bone peeking out from the knob of his ankle, and his stomach turned.</p><p>He had to get back up, he had to keep going, but when he moved to stand, his ankle folded under him. How he had been running on this thing he had no idea, but now it wouldn’t move. </p><p>He heard footsteps running behind him and he scratched at his wrist desperately, trying to focus, trying to push through the pain, <em>needing</em> to just <em>get</em> <em>up.</em> He felt scabs from earlier reopen and start weeping blood, but his legs shook sporadically underneath him, whether from panic or pain, he wasn't sure.<br/>
He wished his mother was here, he wished he could feel her tugging violently on his hair, feeling her nails tearing at his arm, urging him to go, <em>go,</em> <strong>go.</strong></p><p>
  <strong></strong>
</p><p>His mind was spiralling, his vision was starting to edge with black, and he couldn’t feel his wrist. He glanced down, seeing his fingers coated in blood, caked under his nails, and he thought of dragging his mother’s body from that car. The sound of her skin tearing off the leather seats filled his ears, and he felt a sharp prick on his neck.</p><p>
  <strong></strong>
</p><p>He watched the darkness that edged his vision slowly start seep in closer, until it finally clouded his eyes, and he fell into the calming silence with an exhausted sigh.</p><p>
  <strong></strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Birds of a Feather, Suffer Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's currently 2am, and I just finished editing this.<br/>Maybe I should have made an uploading schedule so it's not so sporadic like this, but honestly? Every time I finish a chapter, I just can't wait to share it so,,,<br/>Here's chapter 3!!</p><p>Gimme all the comments</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Neil woke when something jostled his ankle.</p><p>At least, he thought he woke up. His eyes were open, certainly, and he could definitely feel a strong throbbing in his head and a burning, hollow feeling in his right leg, but everything was horribly fuzzy.</p><p>The dark ceiling swirled above him and he tried to blink, but it seemed to happen in slow motion. Like his whole body was encased in jelly. Jelly filled with spikes that pricked him every time he tried to move. </p><p>His ankle was moved again and he groaned, low in his throat, but it sounded like it came from outside him. Like he was encased in bubble wrap and his voice was being projected through a megaphone that didn’t work. </p><p>“You are awake? Good, Riko has been waiting.” A voice said from down by his feet, and Neil’s sluggish brain eventually guessed it came from the person who was touching his ankle. The voice was coated with an accent his useless mind couldn’t identify at the moment, but it sounded very familiar. </p><p>His ankle was lifted slightly as it was wrapped in something, and Neil felt as if his entire world shifted. He whimpered stupidly, wanting to hate himself for his inability to communicate but not able to conjure up any words in his mind to berate himself with. </p><p><em>“Ta gueule,</em> it is just sprained. And shredded to hell and back, but that is your own fault.” The voice tutted, and Neil’s easily suggestible mind in this state felt ashamed for a moment, as if he was getting scolded by a parent. His mind on parents, he braced himself as well as he could for retribution. He did something wrong, didn’t he? It was his fault. </p><p>Neil was finally able to bring his eyes down from the ceiling and tried to focus on the person in front of him. The man the voice belonged to was sitting on a chair positioned at the foot of the bed Neil was on. That was odd. Neil hadn’t even realized he was on a bed. In fact, even as he tried to focus on that, it felt as if he was floating. </p><p>His eyes could only pick out a blob of black on the man’s head, that would presumably look like hair if his vision were clearer, and a startlingly clear picture of storm gray eyes. He could see them perfectly as they looked at him, like he was looking through the lens of a camera that was focused on that point in particular, everything else blurred out. </p><p>He could tell that the man’s body froze for a nanosecond as they stared at him, at the way Neil’s body went tense, but the moment was gone as soon as it started.<br/>
“The drugs are still in your system, I assume? They used too high a dosage, Riko will want you to be aware for what he has planned.”</p><p>The man stood up, though to Neil’s foggy eyes it looked more like he fell sideways. Neil tried to clench his fingers on the sheets he assumed to be under his body and thought he felt the silkiness of them for a moment, before the sensation drifted away from him like seeds from a dead dandelion in a breeze. </p><p>“You are all fixed up. Not that it will last for long. So stop whining and try to sleep a bit more. Hopefully the drugs will be mostly gone in a couple of hours. I will let Riko know,” The voice came from further away, and Neil’s mushy brain finally identified the accent as French,<br/>
“I would tell you my name, but it is not as if you would remember it in this state.”</p><p>Neil vaguely registered the sound of a door closing, and he furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t make out any details of the room, and his mind was a muddled mess. He couldn’t remember what name he was going by currently, much less what he was doing here or what happened before. His best bet was to just sleep, like the Frenchman had said. </p><p>--</p><p>Neil only registered the words “Wake him up” a second <em>after</em> his face got drenched in ice cold water.</p><p>He turned on his side immediately, coughing into the pillow his head was rested on, trying to remember how to breathe. He felt a stinging sensation in his shoulders when he reached up to wipe water out of his eyes, but paid it no mind. He needed to process where he was.</p><p>He opened his eyes to two faces hovering next to his bed. One of them was a face he recognized vaguely, dark hair and gray eyes, a tattoo of the number ‘3’ on his left cheekbone, though he couldn’t place it immediately. The second face shared the dark hair and had a matching tattoo in dark ink of the number ‘1’, but the eyes were black. They glinted dangerously when he met them.</p><p>“<em>Nathaniel.</em> You’ve certainly taken your time with your beauty sleep.” The smaller man said, teeth bared in a menacing imitation of a grin. Neil put a name to the face as he flinched back from the use of his real name. </p><p>This was Riko Moriyama, discarded second son of the Moriyama empire. Left to his own devices to help run a smaller corporation headed by his uncle, Tetsuji Moriyama. The front brought in enough money to finance his infamous street gang, which he called The Ravens.<br/>
If this was who had been tracking him for the past couple of months, Neil mentally berated himself for being so worried. This meant his father’s people hadn’t found him yet. He was just of slight interest to an estranged son of a Yakuza leader. He’s dealt with far worse.</p><p>He sat up, running a hand through his brown hair. His head still hurt like crazy, and he shivered a bit as water dripped onto his shoulders, but at least his vision was clear. “Apologies, <em>Riko.</em> Maybe it had something to do with the drugs you injected me with being a high enough dosage to knock an elephant out for days.”</p><p>Riko’s grin turned sharper. “So you <em>do</em> remember me. Then tell me, dear Nathaniel, why have you been running?”</p><p>Neil took note of his wrapped ankle and the pulsing of the graze on his left arm. He could run, he was sure of it.<br/>
“Remember you? I <em>know</em> you for sure, leader of the feared <em>bird</em> gang. Terrifying, really. What do you do to your enemies? Peck their eyes out?”</p><p>The man next to Riko sucked in a sharp breath, while Riko’s eyes darkened.<br/>
“Would you like to find out?” Riko asked slowly.</p><p>“Am I one of your enemies? I’m flattered, but what did I do to deserve this honor?” Neil shifted ever so slightly, moving his legs closer to the edge of the bed.</p><p>“You really don’t remember?” Riko sneered, taking a step closer to the bed. “You ran away from your rightful place. I’ve only taken you back to where you belong.” </p><p>“Is that right? Because I distinctly remember running away from my father. And unless you’ve got some exciting news to tell me, you are not him.” Neil eyed the doorway. The black door was closed, he assumed locked as well, but it locked from the inside and shouldn’t slow him down too much. </p><p>“Is that what your mother told you? You thought you were running away from that brute the whole time, and you never questioned it?”</p><p>Neil laughed, but his voice sounded dull to his ears. “Do you know my father? I didn’t need specifics.” </p><p>“Indeed.” Riko hummed, eyes trailing over Neil’s form in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable. “You look just like him, you know. Even with your silly hair dye and contacts. The Butcher of Balitmore, I believe, is his title. Nathan Wesninski is the man who sold you to us.” </p><p>Neil’s breath stopped in his throat, though he wasn’t sure which part of what Riko said halted it. The casual mention of his father’s name was enough to make chills run down his spine, and he felt like millions of centipedes were burrowing beneath his skin.<br/>
Riko had just said his father <em>sold</em> him to the Moriyamas, but that didn’t make sense. His mother had never mentioned anything of the sort. What did the <em>Moriyamas</em> have to do with his father? </p><p>Neil scoffed, going on the defensive when his mind told him he felt threatened. “Why would he do that? Sell me off to a reject gang when he could have kept me for his own empire? You’re dreaming, Riko.”</p><p>Riko bristled at the word ‘reject’ and sunk his sharpened teeth into Neil’s already pierced skin. “Your father didn’t have his “own empire”. He worked for the Moriyamas.”</p><p>Neil stilled. His lungs shriveled inside his chest and he was sure his heart stopped as well. His father worked for the Moriyamas? That couldn’t be true. His father didn’t work for anyone. Riko must be lying. </p><p>Neil looked up, brown eyes meeting black. He saw absolute arrogance reflected there. They were the eyes of a man who knew he’d just won. The eyes of a man who knew he was at the top of the food chain, and had just caught his dinner.<br/>
They were also the eyes of a man who had every reason to lie.</p><p>Riko must have seen his hesitance to believe him in his posture, and he took it in with far too much enjoyment. “Why do you think your mother ran with you on that particular night? She had had enough of your father at last? She finally booked that plane ticket she needed?”</p><p>Neil shook his head slightly, mostly to himself, hands shaking as he clenched them in his lap. This couldn’t be true, this couldn’t be true, this <em>couldn’t be true.</em></p><p>“She ran with you the night before you were going to move into The Nest. The night before you were scheduled to start training with me; you were going to be a part of my Perfect Circle. My number three, right after <em>Kevin.”</em> Riko spat the name like he was disgusted, but his eyes shone with a jealous rage.</p><p>Neil’s hands stilled. He knew that name as well. He remembered now. Him, Riko, and Kevin all used to play together as kids. The last time he had seen them was when they had all watched his father rip a man apart in front of them. Piece by bloody piece.<br/>
He had never wondered why the three of them, out of everyone, had been together all the time as children. Riko, the son of Lord Kengo Moriyama, and Kevin Day, the kid prodigy who had been adopted by Tetsuji when Kayleigh Day died. </p><p>Why him? Why them? Why did the three of them have to wash blood from their faces that night? Why did the three of them have to watch the life drain out of some man they had never seen before? Why did the three of them have to suffer through nightmares for years, about something they didn’t even fully understand? <em>Why?</em></p><p>He was promised to the Moriyamas.</p><p>Neil didn’t think. He bolted. </p><p>He nearly tripped over his hurt ankle in his haste to get off the bed, but he only stumbled a step before hurling himself at the door. His heart seemed to have started up again out of nowhere and it was pounding like it wanted to break his rib cage. <em>He was promised to the Moriyamas.</em></p><p>“Jean!” Neil heard Riko call, but it echoed in the back of his head like a poorly connected phone call. He was grappling with the door handle, his fingers quick, but shaking so much they were essentially useless. </p><p>As soon as he got the door unlocked and twisted the handle, a body slammed into his, pinning him to the door and shutting his only exit tightly in front of him.<br/>
Neil gasped as the breath was punched out of him, sagging against the larger body holding him up for a brief second. Then he was on him like a feral cat.</p><p>He kicked and scratched, leaving angry red marks down the man’s (<em>Jean,</em> Riko had called him) arms. He drew blood wherever he could until Jean finally wrangled his arms down to his sides and held them there securely. </p><p>He struggled fiercely, shouting the whole way back to the bed. “Let me <em>go,</em> you assholes! What are you going to do? I’m not joining your stupid fucking <em>gang!”</em> </p><p>Riko chuckled as Jean handcuffed him to the headboard, and didn’t flinch when Jean received a foot in the gut for his efforts. “There’s that fire we’ve heard so much about. Tell me, what was it that shocked you so much? The fact that you belong to the Moriyamas, or that it was your own father who sold you to us?”</p><p>“Fuck. <em>You.”</em> Neil tore out, yanking on the handcuffs and finding them terrifyingly secure. “And don’t you mean ‘them’? Did you forget you’re not a part of daddy’s little mafia anymore?” </p><p>If Riko’s eyes were sharp before, now they were downright <em>vicious.</em> It seemed Neil had hit a sore spot. “Oh, you’re going to <em>pay</em> for that.”</p><p>--</p><p>And Neil did.</p><p>Jean uncuffed him hours, days, years later when Riko finally left, and it didn’t feel as much like relief as he thought it would. He brought his hands down to his chest regardless, trying to relieve the ache throughout his shoulders and wrists and finding only pain elsewhere. Riko had used both himself and his knives, and Neil wasn’t sure which hurt worse. </p><p>Jean set the handcuffs on the nightstand and left the bedside for a minute. Neil tried to get himself to focus enough to take stock of his injuries, but instead found himself so far removed from the situation it was hard to put himself back here.<br/>
He knew in the back of his head that everything stung. He knew in the back of his head that he was uncuffed and Riko left and the door was <em>right there,</em> but… He couldn’t find any energy, any <em>motivation</em> to get up and try to get out.</p><p>He wasn’t broken. He could deduce that right now. He used to live with his <em>father.</em> It would take more than this. But right now… He was cracked. His mind was telling him to sleep, telling him to forget about what just happened and that it’ll all feel better in the morning.<br/>
He felt a bit weightless. Like if he let go of the sheets beneath him, he would float up to the ceiling. Maybe he could break through and fly away.</p><p>A hand touched his wrist and he jerked violently away. He curled up as tightly into a ball as his body allowed him and started to shake quietly. His eyes were open, but he could see nothing.</p><p>“<em>Merde.</em> It is just me.” Jean’s voice came from above him. </p><p>He didn’t move. He didn’t think he would ever move again. Did he used to move? He was sure he did. Was he?</p><p>Jean sighed heavily. Tiredly, as if he was exhausted far beyond the events of tonight. “Are <em>you</em> going to stitch yourself back up?”</p><p>The bed shifted as Jean sat on the corner, by his legs, and Neil curled tighter if possible. “Just stretch out one leg, for now. I will close the largest of the wounds, then you will want to take a shower. That is not optional. Then I shall bandage the smaller ones.”</p><p>Jean waited for a response. It took Neil thirty seconds to actually comprehend what was said, and another thirty to find it in himself to move. He nudged his leg in Jean’s direction, and curled a hand in the sheets by his head. </p><p>“Thank you.” Jean said, far gentler than before, and his hands worked diligently, thoughtfully. His ministrations were knowing, like he had patched others, or himself, up in much the same way many times before. It might’ve been comforting, in some strange way, if Neil could feel much of anything at the moment. </p><p>It felt like only seconds before Jean was forcing him to get up, to walk to the bathroom to shower. It felt like a new kind of torture, holding onto Jean’s shoulder not of his own will, but because his legs would give out on him if he didn’t. Having to <em>feel</em> exactly what kind of effects the night’s events had on his body, his brain still refusing to fully cooperate with his limbs, his eyes unable to look up much past his feet. </p><p>Jean helped him into the shower and pulled him out again when he spent too much time standing under the stinging hot water, twisting the knob until it went hotter and <em>hotter,</em> so his foggy mind would feel <em>something.</em> He had a towel ready for him when he stepped out, though Neil had a hard time raising his arms enough to really do much drying. His contacts were made to be removed at some point during the night and he avoided catching his eye in the mirror.<br/>
Jean helped him into loose black pajamas and led him back to his bed.</p><p>“Do not expect this kind of treatment every night,” Jean huffed softly, bandaging the cuts and other flayed skin carefully. Neil watched Jean’s hands as he worked. His eyes traveled up from there to his arms and, now that he was more aware, he could recognize the welled up red lines scraped down them. Some broken open and bleeding lightly. Neil felt a strange sort of pride fill his aching chest at that. He had <em>fought.</em><br/>
“Tomorrow you start training and he will not go easy on you.”</p><p>Neil found that the heat from the shower had brought one emotion back up to the surface. Annoyance.<br/>
“Oh, I’m sorry, was he going “easy on me” tonight? I didn’t realize. I’ll try to be more thankful next time.” His voice was scratchy and cracking as he spoke, but his point got across just fine.</p><p>“It will only get worse from here on in,” Jean’s voice was a bit more heated now. “<em>I</em> am your only ally in this place, do you understand? Do not be self-centered and assume that the worst is over.”</p><p>“I’m not staying here.” Neil said, but it came out more like a mumble. A thought that he still had yet to figure out how to make a reality.</p><p>“Sure, you are not,” Jean retreated to his own bed after turning out the lights. Neil couldn't see him, but he could bet Jean was rolling his eyes. “This is your rightful place and as soon as you accept that, the sooner we can stop having these useless conversations.”</p><p>“Right. I’m not going to be like you. This is not my “rightful place”, and fuck you for saying that.” Neil’s voice was far too tired to make his remarks have any bite to them.</p><p>There was a brief moment of silence before Jean let out a long breath. “Sleep.”</p><p>And Neil did.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A Gift To Remember</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 4 is here! Hope you didn't mind the small wait!</p><p>Comment if you enjoy! They keep me motivated!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With a slight limp and bandages covering his body, Neil felt like a mummy weaving its way through the maze of a pyramid. Was he wandering to find the exit to this labyrinth or was he searching for a lost king, buried under his mountain of treasure so he can rot with his worthless riches? </p><p>A hand yanked his arm and Neil’s eyes flicked upwards. Ah, there was the king. Posture poised and always ready for a fight, but only with those he can easily subdue. Neil thought he hated him. </p><p>“Nathaniel, I’ve been looking for you. Where are you off to?” The king asked, eyes staring down his nose as if his few inches on Neil made him supreme ruler. </p><p>“I’m headed to the dining hall. It is dinner time, after all.” Neil tugged his arm a bit, but the king’s grip remained firm.</p><p>“You’re not with Jean, and that means you’re not where you’re supposed to be.” His highness smirked and Neil felt some of his scabs pop open where the hand squeezed tighter around his bicep. </p><p>“What am I, his keeper? I haven’t seen Jean since-” Neil interrupted himself, biting his tongue as he realized what the gleam in Riko’s eyes suggested. Neil dug his fingernails into his palm to keep himself from lashing out. “Where is he?”</p><p>Riko’s smirk widened, teeth peeking out through arrogant lips. “He’s in his room, resting. I have a job for you, however.”</p><p>“What did you do, you-!” Neil choked on his insult as Riko’s nails dug into his still healing bullet graze. Neil took a moment to recover.<br/>
“I’m going to him.” He gritted out. </p><p>Riko clicked his tongue. “Too bad. I have work for you. If you had just stayed with him the way you’re supposed to, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”</p><p>Neil dug in his heels when Riko started walking away, his grip still burning into Neil’s arm like the hot iron scar on his shoulder. “Let me go to him, you <em>bastar-!”</em></p><p>Neil’s cheek stung, the skin ignited like a lighter was lit beneath it. Riko shook out his hand and adjusted his rings, backhanding Neil apparently too much for his delicate fingers. Neil stuck his tongue in his cheek, trying to sooth the broken skin there from his teeth.</p><p>“Would you like to repeat that?” Riko’s smug voice accompanied his free hand tangling in the hair at the back of Neil’s head, forcing his gaze to level with Riko’s.</p><p>Neil stubbornly kept his vision focused on a point to the right of Riko’s forehead and said nothing, his temper burning a hole inside his chest.</p><p>“Good. Now come with me.”</p><p>--</p><p>Riko kept him busy sharpening knives and other weapons, jobs usually reserved for the lowest ranking members. It wasn’t about training for Neil though; this was a punishment.</p><p>Neil definitely had learned his lesson when he returned to his room two hours later to find Jean in only his briefs, painstakingly trying to stitch up a gash on his lower back.</p><p>Neil shut the door behind him and tried to quell the rage welling up in his gut. Jean wouldn’t let Neil be angry for him, wouldn’t let Neil feel <em>anything</em> for him. He said it was safer, said that emotions just hold you back in The Nest.</p><p>He carefully made his way to the bed Jean was sitting on, hunched over and twisting in an odd way to try and reach the cut on his back. Neil sat down next to him and gently maneuvered the needle from Jean’s hands.<br/>
He said nothing as he pieced him back together, knowing Jean wouldn’t appreciate any sentiment from him, and would likely be more hesitant to let him help if he spoke. </p><p>He helped Jean to the shower when he finished, reminding him of Neil's first night here, almost a week ago now, but he kept those memories under tight lock and key. </p><p>Riko had been working him to the <em>bone</em> since that first night, conditioning and target practice and his little torture sessions which he insisted were for “upping his pain tolerance”.<br/>
It wasn’t so bad. It reminded him of home.</p><p>“We are dyeing your hair tomorrow.” Jean spoke up  in French, as they tended to do when it was just the two of them. It was easier for Jean once he learned Neil could speak it and it was a bit comforting to Neil. It gave him a slight reprieve from this place, where English and Japanese were the only languages tolerated. Jean dressed himself gingerly while Neil tied his hair back with a bandana in preparation for training. Looks like he wasn’t getting dinner tonight either.</p><p>Neil's eyes snapped to Jean at the words. “What? Why?”</p><p>Jean sighed heavily, sitting on his bed carefully. “It’s going back to your natural color.”</p><p>Neil’s blood froze in his veins and he felt they might burst from the expansion. Riko wanted to give him back his father’s looks. He wanted to shine a beacon of light on his location, highlighting his whereabouts. But <em>why?</em> It’ll just make it harder for Riko to keep him won’t it? Whether or not he belonged to the Moriyamas, his father would still be looking for him, wouldn’t he?</p><p>“Don’t panic yet, it is just a hair color.” Jean said tiredly, laying on his side slowly so he could rest without hurting his back. </p><p>“It’s not just a hair color and you <em>know</em> that.” Neil gritted out, but Jean was right, he couldn’t panic. He couldn’t give Riko the satisfaction of his reaction.</p><p>“I know.” Jean agreed quietly. His next words remained unspoken, but Neil heard them clear as day.<br/>
<em>But there’s no way to stop it.</em></p><p>--</p><p>The next night, Riko spent a considerable amount of time running his hands through Neil’s newly auburn hair, his free hand pressing a knife to Jean’s gut to make sure Neil kept still. </p><p>The king hummed to himself lowly, tangling his fingers in the locks and tugging hard in a rhythm only he could understand, relishing in the hisses of pain it drew from Neil.</p><p>His hand moved to Neil’s cheek and Neil went absolutely still when the fingers started tracing a design there. </p><p>
  <em>4</em>
</p><p>The tattoo was cut into his face the very next day, a quiet man with designs layered on his arms came and went silently, just doing a job and getting out. Neil didn’t think it was the needle that tore his skin so much as the underlying threat of <em>ownership</em> the ink represented. </p><p>Neil threw up that night, as soon as Riko left, with Jean only quietly handing him a glass of water afterwards. The next morning he was greeted with the sight of a towel hanging over the mirror, blocking his view of his appearance.<br/>
Neil was silently grateful. </p><p>--</p><p>Neil didn’t know <em>what</em> he did wrong or <em>where</em> he misstepped, but he knew he pissed Riko off. </p><p>It wasn’t hard to do. The king was easily angered and only satiated by pain and submission. He was brash and reckless and <em>spiteful.</em>  Neil had felt his wrath many times in his days here. But tonight felt different.</p><p>Maybe he’d spoken out one too many times, or jerked away from Riko’s fingers against his tattoo too much and pushed his patience too far.<br/>
Maybe it had nothing to do with Neil at all. </p><p>Riko had seemed in an off mood all day, for no apparent reason. He was snapping at everyone and sticking closer to Neil than usual. Neil had known he’d probably break soon.</p><p>He just didn’t know it would be this bad. </p><p>He remembered Riko making him take pills, which he starkly refused before having to watch a knife slide against Jean’s forearm, breaking the skin immediately.<br/>
He remembered his consciousness slowly fading in and out.<br/>
He remembered Jean’s frantic voice, which is strange, because Jean doesn’t speak up against Riko. <em>Ever.</em></p><p>He remembered a bumpy car ride with his head cradled in Jean’s lap.<br/>
And he remembered his head hitting concrete when he was tossed to the ground after the car stopped. He remembered the sound of the engine as it faded away.</p><p>That was all he remembered.</p><p>--</p><p>Andrew was <em>tired.</em></p><p>Not only had he barely slept the night before, but he spent his entire time at Eden’s tonight sitting with Kevin and making sure he wasn’t drinking himself into a coma. Dates were one of Kevin’s stronger triggers, even if some didn’t seem to make sense to Andrew. Today was February 22nd, and Kevin was too jittery to do more than pace and snap at people all day.</p><p>So yes, he was exhausted. But his night was not made any better by a hard <em>thump</em> against his front door, and the sound of a vehicle speeding away. </p><p>He was instantly on high alert, sliding a knife out of one of his armbands on instinct and stepping carefully through the hallway to the door. </p><p>He didn’t know what he expected when he opened the door; he definitely assumed it to be a threat, as one is usually safe in assuming, but what he found didn’t look very threatening.<br/>
In fact, he would say it looked pretty broken.</p><p>On his doorstep was a boy, shirtless and seemingly unconscious, his torso looking like someone had stuck in him a cage with a hungry lion and nothing to defend himself with except for his own fingernails. </p><p>He leaned against the doorway, looking up from the body to the yard out front and scanning for any clues. There seemed to be no sign of suspicious cars or people and the street was empty and quiet.</p><p>That left him with a pile of bloody limbs and no idea what to do with them. He might’ve left the boy there if not for the sharp gasp that came from behind him.</p><p>“Oh my- <em>Fuck.</em>” </p><p>Andrew turned to look behind him at the source of the voice and found his own face mirrored back at him. Aaron was just as much of a light sleeper as he was, even when he’d been drinking, thanks to growing up with his mother’s aggressive mood changes and heavy hands. </p><p>Andrew stared a moment longer at the kid on the ground before moving to close the door.</p><p>“<em>Andrew,</em> what-? What happened? Who is that?” Aaron’s voice buzzed at his ear like an annoying fly and he caught the door before it could close. “What are you <em>doing</em>? We can’t <em>leave</em> him out there!”</p><p>“Odd, because that’s exactly what I’m doing.”</p><p>But Aaron’s hand didn’t let go of the door. </p><p>“He’s hurt! You’re not seriously going to leave a person bleeding out on your doorstep!”</p><p>“His legs are fine, he can walk somewhere else for help. He’s not our problem.”</p><p>Both of their eyes snapped downwards when the boy let out a soft groan. They watched as his eyes slowly blinked open, but his gaze seemed unfocused and confused. He mumbled something unintelligible and tried to stand up, almost immediately toppling over.</p><p>Andrew caught him by his arms on instinct, and the boy didn’t even flinch when Andrew’s hands pressed against numerous cuts and bruises. Curious.</p><p>The boy’s gaze landed on him, but his eyes drifted off his face as quickly as they came, as if he were following swirling designs in the air rather than solid objects in front of him. </p><p>“Hm?” The boy scrunched his eyebrows together. “Jean?”</p><p>His speech was slurred, words coming out as if he were talking through a mouthful of slush. </p><p>Aaron’s eyes were assessing, cataloguing the boy’s swollen pupils and strange detachment and reaching the same conclusion Andrew did. “Andrew, he’s been drugged.”</p><p>Andrew understood that quite well. What his eyes were focused on, however, when he brought the kid in the house and kicked the door shut, was the message scrawled across the boy’s stomach in stark, black marker. It was framed by his ribs, jutting out slightly more than they should be, and underlined harshly by a gash that was oozing blood through hastily formed scabs. </p><p>
  <strong><em>Happy birthday, 2.</em></strong></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Muddled Thoughts and Sorry Hearts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here you are!!  Sorry it took a minute, I haven't been feeling too great, lately.</p><p>Leave a comment if you enjoy!! They're the best encouragement!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Despite the boy barely being present, he still seemed aware enough to flinch away from Aaron’s hands once he was settled on the couch. Aaron furrowed his eyebrows, repeatedly reassuring and trying to get closer, but the boy wouldn’t stop asking for “Jean”. </p><p>“Fuck’s sake, Aaron, just tell him you’re Jean.” Andrew stood at the other end of the couch, eyes cataloging the scene warily. </p><p>“I’m not gonna <em>lie</em> to him.” Aaron huffed and turned back to the kid, voice softening only a smidge. “Hey, just lie still and I can finally clean out this <em>gaping</em> gash in your abdomen, okay?”</p><p>The boy murmured something in a language Andrew assumed to be French, and he caught the name Jean again. He kept attempting to sit back up and his eyes traced the room frantically, despite not seeming to be able to focus on anything. </p><p>“I-...” Aaron was getting frustrated, it was clear. “I can’t understand you.”</p><p>The kid’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, and his eyes locked on Aaron for a split second longer than usual before drifting away again. He switched to English. “‘S R..ko gn..?” </p><p>Aaron glanced at Andrew, stumped. Andrew translated the boy’s slurred response. “He’s asking if Riko’s gone.”</p><p>As Aaron nodded slowly, still confused, and Andrew clenched his fists beside himself. He already knew that this was Riko’s doing, based on the message for Kevin, but hearing it confirmed made his blood roar. What was Riko hoping to achieve by dropping this mess at his door? Just another jab at Kevin? It seemed too extreme just for that, even for Riko. </p><p>“Yes. Yes, no one’s gonna hurt you here, okay? But you’ve lost a good amount of blood, and you need to <em>let</em> me help you, alright?” Aaron reached for the kid again when he seemed to relax at the answer. </p><p>“”Kay…” The boy finally breathed out, eyes going up to the ceiling. He reached one of his hands out suddenly, eyes back on Aaron, probably attempting to touch Aaron’s arm, but instead swiping the air a few inches next to it. “You ‘kay? Hurt.... Hurt you…”</p><p>Aaron didn’t look up from his work. “I’m not hurt.”</p><p>The boy moved his hand to his own face, covering his eyes for a second, seeming to quell a sudden headache. “No. You.... No, you… Arm....”</p><p>Aaron shook his head lightly, preparing a needle for stitches. “My arm isn’t hurt. Is Jean’s arm hurt?”</p><p>The kid’s head bobbed a little, hand sliding down until it hung off the couch limply. “Prah.... Prob-bly <em>bad</em>. Yelled.... Yelled f’me…” </p><p>“Where is he? Is he still with Riko?” Andrew figured Aaron was just trying to keep him conscious and distracted from the pain, but Andrew wanted these answers as well.</p><p>The boy hummed, fingers flexing almost experimentally against the couch. “Nest…”<br/>
The boy winced slightly when Aaron started on the stitches. ”Ow… Drink?” </p><p>“Drink?” Andrew ventured.</p><p>The boy hummed again, though filtered through the pained expression he wore, he came out a bit like a whimper. “Pain… Ow. Drin...k, <em>please</em>?” </p><p>“Andrew, is he asking for <em>alcohol</em>?” Aaron asked dubiously, hands stalled for a moment over the wound. </p><p>Andrew crossed his arms, staring at the kid when he met his eyes. “Looks like The Nest is good at churning out little alcoholics, hm?” </p><p>Aaron rolled his eyes, continuing with his stitches. “We can’t get you a drink. Not while the drugs are in your system. It’ll only make it worse.” </p><p>The boy actually <em>whined</em>. “‘S alred...y wrse…” </p><p>It took a whole half hour to clean, bandage, and stitch the kid’s wounds up. During which they learned his name was Neil (“Natha-<em>no. Neil</em>.”) and managed to scrub the marker from his skin to a black smudge. Which was good, because Andrew didn’t want to see how Kevin would react to a message like that for him. </p><p>Mixed in with the other bandages on Neil, there was a small one covering his left cheekbone. Now that Andrew thought about it, it had been there when the kid arrived. Andrew wondered why that, out of everything, was bandaged before he got here. </p><p>Neil was barely conscious when Aaron asked him if there were any other wounds he needed to take care of that they couldn’t see. Neil’s eyes were already closed, but he responded with a careless, “Not new…” </p><p>He was out within the next five minutes.</p><p>Aaron ran a hand through his hair, before moving to take care of his supplies. He looked tired. A tiredness that came not from working through a hangover, but from seeing too much. He didn’t know how to react to that night’s events. </p><p>Aaron came back into the living room once everything was cleaned up, and looked at Andrew. “I’m going back to sleep. Are you…?”</p><p>Andrew nodded, settling into an armchair that was angled so he could see the couch clearly. </p><p>Aaron nodded in turn, sighing. “Okay. Uhm… If he sleeps through the night, which he...Should? I mean, everyone reacts differently, and I have no sure way of knowing what drugs are in his system, but… Regardless, the next morning he should be more clear headed. He’ll feel awful, but it’ll probably be just a little more awful then say, what Kevin will be feeling after his drinking tonight.” </p><p>Andrew said nothing, but he heard and acknowledged the information. The kid’ll be able to answer questions tomorrow, but he’ll probably be a dick about it. Got it. </p><p>Aaron went upstairs to sleep, and Andrew got ready for a long night.</p><p>--</p><p>Neil startled awake with his heart beating too fast and his head pounding in tune. He was sure he woke from some sort of nightmare, as he often did, but surprisingly, he couldn’t remember what the dream entailed. That was rare. </p><p>He felt awful, but he had the presence of mind, or maybe it was instinct from all those years on the run, to not make a sound or even twitch when he was pulled from unconsciousness. He simply opened his eyes, and took in as much of the room as he could from his position. His fast heart was making it hard to breathe normally, but he struggled through it, finding himself in an unfamiliar place with no recollection of how he’d gotten there.</p><p>It was dark, not quite so dark that he couldn’t see, but enough to tell him that it was pretty early in the morning. He was laid on something reasonably soft, based on the shape underneath him it was a couch. It was cold, despite feeling himself covered with a blanket of some sort, and it was then he realized he was shirtless.<br/>
He panicked briefly, though whether it was from the chance of someone seeing his scars or from the scare that his pants might be gone as well, he wasn’t sure. He shifted his legs carefully, and felt fabric rubbing against fabric, confirming that his legs were covered. He breathed out unsteadily. </p><p>His eyes finally landed on the shape of a large armchair across from him. He squinted for a minute before realizing it was empty, and he strained his ears for any sign of life within the house. His ears picked up no sounds except for the rapid beating of his own heart that no breathing exercises seemed to be helping thus far, and he assumed whoever was in the house with him was still asleep. </p><p>He sat up slowly, grimacing a bit at the tightness of his torso. He hadn’t even stood up yet, and he felt dizzy. He glanced down at himself to find dozens of bandages wrapped around his abdomen and chest, and he put a hand to his head. <em>Fuck</em>, everything hurt. The worst part was that he barely remembered <em>anything</em> from last night. </p><p>He knew he wasn’t at The Nest, that much was clear. His duffel bag was nowhere to be seen, so he hadn’t run away. That could only mean that Riko <em>left</em> him here, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Any place <em>Riko</em> put him in had to be unpleasant. He wasn’t sure what to do.</p><p>He’d once been taught that transfer points were where kidnappers were most vulnerable, but he wasn’t sure if this counted. If he’d been driven here, he’d barely been conscious, so that wouldn’t have worked anyways. However, he wasn’t tied down, there was no one watching him, and everything about this house so far looked <em>normal.</em> This could simply be a stop before they got him on the road again, and he wasn’t going to waste this chance. </p><p>He stood up shakily, finding it harder to remain upright than he thought it would be, seeing as how his legs didn’t seem to be injured. Behind the couch and to the right, he spotted a small hallway that looked like it would lead to a front door. He scanned the room once more carefully, and quietly headed for the door. He reached it uncontested and found it locked.</p><p>He unlocked both the top and bottom locks quickly, his hands trembling the smallest bit, and he opened it a crack before a hard forearm to his back slammed him into the door, effectively cutting off his attempt at escape. His breathing picked up again and his head thrummed in protest. The scene reminded him too much of his first night at The Nest, and he made to turn around to fight back, before feeling the sharpness of a blade poised at the side of his neck. </p><p>He froze immediately, and where his mind would usually be whirring with calculating other routes and methods, today he just felt foggy and off-balance. </p><p>“Going somewhere?” A low voice came from behind him, and Neil desperately tried to place it. If he could just figure out who this was, he could figure what they wanted, and Neil could figure out how to <em>get out of here.</em> </p><p>“Yeah, I was just heading out for some coffee, you want anything?” Neil’s voice came out slightly raspy, his throat terribly dry. He stayed very still, trying to think through his swirling thoughts of panic. </p><p>“Oh, joy. He’s a comedian.” Neil was yanked away from the door, and he let himself be led back to the living room. If he stumbled over his own feet embarrassingly, still feeling terribly out of sorts, no one needed to know. He was pushed back down on the couch, and he sat obediently, thankful to get away from the knife and finally able to get a look at his captor. </p><p>The man standing before him was short, blond, and dressed in black. Neil’s eyes cataloged his broad shoulders and black armbands covering his forearms and couldn’t conjure up any recognition. His hazel eyes were impassive as he looked over Neil, and Neil could now smell coffee coming from the kitchen. That must have been where the man had been when Neil woke up. </p><p>Neil wanted to remain alert and ready to run, but he couldn’t help but lean back against the couch cushions, his body aching all over. He kept his gaze on the blond man cautiously, waiting for him to make the first move. It didn’t take long.</p><p>“Why are you here?” The man asked, in all seriousness, and Neil was dumb-founded, to say the least. It was the last question he expected to hear, and he didn’t know how to answer it. </p><p>“Uhm..? You tell me. It's not like I'm choosing to be here, you know.” Neil quirked an eyebrow at him, confused and disoriented with this line of questioning. </p><p>The man plowed on. “You came from Riko, correct? What does he want?”</p><p>Neil's head was only getting worse. “Bold of you to assume Riko tells me anything. Do you have any painkillers?” </p><p>The man was staring at him hard, as if he was trying to decipher him and decode every word he uttered. “How much of last night do you remember?”</p><p>Neil ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, wincing when his shoulder twinged. He could tell he was handcuffed last night, that much was clear. “Not a whole lot. I’m assuming you didn’t <em>choose</em> to have me dumped on you?”</p><p>When the man just looked at him, Neil sighed again. “Why can’t you just let me go, then?”</p><p>The man looked like he might finally answer a question when they were interrupted by someone stumbling down the stairs behind them. “Andrew…? Why are you up so early?”</p><p>Clearly they hadn’t realized there was a second person in the living room yet, and Neil turned on the couch to see who had just arrived. His mind didn’t put the pieces together as quickly as he would’ve liked. He took in dark hair and green eyes, but his brain was muddled enough that it meant nothing to him until he saw what was printed on the man’s cheek.</p><p><em>A number two.</em> </p><p>Neil was looking at Kevin Day.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>